


Try Not to Look

by ArchitectOfTheStars (AdaEinar)



Series: Plance Fics [4]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Awkward Crush, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Tension, Awkwardness, Ballroom Dancing, Crushes, Dressing Up Is Weird, F/M, He's Also a Good Third Wheel, Hunk (Voltron) is a Good Friend, Mutual Pining, Party, Pining, Pining Lance (Voltron), Space Mom Allura (Voltron), They Can't Ballroom Dance, Which Is Kinda Sad But Hunk's OK With It, and uncomfortable, or maybe only I find it awkward, the only word for this is awkward and I'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:14:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26855023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdaEinar/pseuds/ArchitectOfTheStars
Summary: Team Voltron has to go to a reception to get the Ebenaki to join the Voltron Coalition. Unfortunately for Pidge, that means she has to dress up--but Allura finds a way to make things better.Lance likes the results a little too much, and it's really confusing him.(I just realized, that vague description makes it sound less than appropriate. This is clean, I promise. Just some fluff, friendship, crushing, and a little kissing.)
Relationships: Allura & Lance (Voltron), Hunk & Lance (Voltron), Lance & Pidge | Katie Holt, Lance/Pidge | Katie Holt
Series: Plance Fics [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1933597
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	Try Not to Look

Lance rarely had to dress up as a kid.

There had been parties, but none had needed kids or teenagers to dress up. He’d left for the Garrison before he was old enough for school dances, and being a school full of space-oriented nerds, the Garrison did not have dances.

The only time Lance had ever been forced into a suit was at his _abuelito_ ’s funeral. He hated it--more because he’d wanted to pretend his grandfather was still alive than because he found the suit uncomfortable. He did remember it being restrictive and hot, though, and the tie being absolutely awful.

Space tuxedos weren’t any better.

They should’ve been. He was wearing the black suit _over_ his armor, so logically, he shouldn’t notice it at all. But the tuxedo operated on alien logic, so he did notice it--especially the bright blue tie he’d been forced into.

(Worst of all, it matched Keith’s red one. Whose idea was that?!)

Lance was fiddling with his bowtie, trying to get a full lungful of air, when Allura walked in.

Whenever she entered a room, people looked at her. They couldn’t not. Usually, it was for a good reason—because she looked gorgeous in her blue and white Altean dress, or she looked badass in her white and pink armor. But this time, everyone turned to stare at her because she looked _ridiculous_.

She wore a tucked-in plaid vest (blue, purple, and gold plaid. It wasn’t even reasonable plaid, like brown plaid. Blue, purple, and gold!) over a white collared shirt, with baggy shorts hemmed with gold. Her hair had been pulled into two uneven braids, and boxy glasses perched on her nose precariously. 

Whoever designed her outfit was either colorblind and considered pajamas the height of fashion, or was an absolute genius playing a practical joke.

“What _happened_ to you?” Keith looked disgusted.

“I made a deal with Pidge,” Allura smiled. (So it was the latter.) “Since I’m dressing her up for this reception, she insisted I let her dress me up.” She held up her arms. “What do you think?”

“You look like a dork, no offense,” Hunk said.

“That is the word Pidge used, I believe.”

“You’re still pretty, just dorky, too,” Hunk assured her.

“It doesn’t matter tonight,” she shrugged, although she didn’t look entirely convinced. “The Altean markings are enough for people to recognize me.”

Lance was about to ask if that meant he could dress up in loose shorts and unrestrictive, tie-less collars too, when Pidge walked into the room.

Her entrance was pretty standard Pidge--supporting an open laptop against her hip with one hand, the other typing rapidly. What wasn’t so standard was what she was wearing.

In a weird way, not much had changed. She was still wearing her paladin armor. But over it, she wore a long swishy purple skirt and a loose green sleeveless shirt. Her hair had been curled and pulled back in a fancy design Lance couldn’t describe, and she wore a single purple flower behind her ear. Her makeup was obvious but underdone (probably a compromise after a long argument with Allura). But it was enough to look strange--gorgeous, but strange.

The main difference, though, was in the way she held herself.

Pidge always looked more sure and . . . well, not graceful, exactly. Maybe “balanced” was the right word. She always looked more sure and balanced in her armor. Her back was straighter, her stride even longer, her movements more defined. Without the baggy clothes, she took up less space, but was more noticeable. She carried herself the same way now, with an additional air of grace and lightness he’d never dreamed she could project.

She held herself, he realized, like a _girl_. Not like _Pidge_.

She closed her computer and turned to face them. “Does this satisfy your fancy dress expectations?” The way she crossed her arms looked so Pidgey, but it helped soften the awful, girly effect only a little.

“You look wonderful, Pidge,” Allura said.

“But do you consider it appropriate for a reception?” Pidge pressed.

“I have no doubt about that,” said Allura quickly.

“Looks good,” Hunk smiled.

Keith didn’t even bat an eye, while Lance was stuck feeling flustered and barely thinking at all, much less thinking clearly.

“Lance?” He’s never seen her turn to him like that before. Normally she just whipped around or looked over her shoulder. She never turned in one spot slowly, stepping carefully and quietly. She never even bothered to close her laptop when talking to people.

Why was he noticing these ridiculous details? Why did it matter how she turned?

It mattered because it made her seem like someone else.

“You look—” He swallowed, trying to steady his voice. “Weird.”

“Weird?” Quiznack, that disappointed face was _so_ un-Pidgey, it was like Allura had changed more than the outfit, or the outfit had changed Pidge, and Lance didn’t like it at all.

“Good. You look really good.” And that wasn’t a lie, she did look incredible. And she was acting exactly like he’d always thought he wanted girls to act. So why didn’t he like it?

They piled into one of the transport pods--they all agreed bringing lions to the reception would be huge overkill—so he had to squeeze into the back of the ship on the benches.

Right next to her.

“I’ve been working on this sorting algorithm based off of a paper from Earth I half remember on cellular automata,” she chattered. If he closed his eyes and just listened, he could convince himself she was sitting next to him, normal and Pidgey. “Cellular automata are fascinating because, given the right set of rules, you can make a computer where each iteration is the next--Hey, Lance, you OK? Are you feeling sick?”

He supposed him sitting there with his eyes closed would look like that. He opened them and— Yep, she still looked far too un-Pidgey. He looked away.

“I’m . . . I’m fine. Great. Perfectly fine. Yep.”

“You sure?”

“Yes!” he said, his voice rising in pitch as she leaned closer.

Hunk gave him a smirk from across the aisle as if he could tell exactly what Lance was feeling.

_Well I can’t, buddy, so could you tell me? I’m really confused right now._

***

When they disembarked on the planet of the reception—Ebenakar, was it? Home of the Ebenaki? Weird name—Allura ran off to discuss something with someone. Hunk pulled Keith to the food table to work on Hunk’s personal mission: making Keith look well nourished. Leaving Lance and Pidge alone.

“Well, uh, just us?” Lance said, his voice tight.

She gave him a look that he couldn’t quite read. Probably weirded out by how strange she was acting. But in his defense, she’s acted strange first. That was kind of the problem.

“Yep.” She glanced away. He tried not to focus on her feminine posture, or the way her hair curled around the green silk of her shirt. He tried to breathe normally. He tried to stop himself from feeling this awkwardness.

This awkwardness was familiar. He frowned, trying to identify it. It wasn’t the awkwardness of being around someone unfamiliar--he’d gotten over that a long time ago. He met someone new practically every day as a Voltron paladin, and besides, he knew Pidge. She was probably the person he knew best.

This awkwardness was more like— 

She turned back to him. “Want to dance?”

Pidge would never normally ask something like that. (She’s normally be complaining that receptions on Earth had never had dancing, just talking.) It’s as if the moment she started wearing makeup, she felt like she had to act differently.

Lance wasn’t much better, though. The moment his best friend started wearing makeup, _he_ felt the need to act differently.

He cleared his throat. “Sure.”

They fumbled awkwardly through the steps, imitating those around them. Fun dancing at parties Lance could do, but ballroom dancing? Or Ebenaki room dancing? Nope. And Pidge, even with her acting all ladylike tonight, wasn’t exactly the most coordinated--or experienced--dancer, regardless of what kind of dance they were doing.

Anyway, Lance was excruciatingly glad that the paladin uniforms had gloves. And that they were wearing the paladin uniforms under their dress clothes. If Pidge’s shoulders weren’t covered by the green plating of her paladin armor . . .

Yeah, that would definitely be worse.

“You’re looking pretty sharp today,” he said haltingly. “Better . . . uh . . .” The only line his fumbling brain could pull up was one from an old--though quite good--TV show he’d seen once. “Better be careful. Your outfit could pierce the hull of an intergalactic Galra cruiser, leaving thousands to die in space.”

She raised an eyebrow.

Yeah. That line hadn’t worked so well in the show, either. He'd forgotten. Thanks a lot, brain.

“Since when do you flirt with me?” she asked.

Good question.

“Since you looked so stunning I need eclipse glasses just to glance at you.” He gave her his smoothest smile, which at the moment, was pretty rough. “Of course, your brilliance would do that any day.” Nice. Play on words. Lance could do that. She was smart, she could appreciate it, even if it was in a flirty line.

“. . . thanks.”

Again, not at all how Pidge would normally react. He ground his teeth together, praying that Ebanakar orbited a black hole so this night could speed up and be over soon.

***

Things were going awfully, but Lance drew the line when he cracked a strained joke and she giggled.

_Giggled._

Pidge’s laugh was more of a genuine, carefree, cackling sound. It was cute, but it sure wasn’t a giggle. So when she giggled, he knew he wouldn’t be able to take a whole night of this.

“Excuse me,” he said. He was too distracted to think up a good excuse. He just walked briskly away and, once he was out of her sight, sprinted out onto one of the balconies bordering the Ebenaki ballroom.

What was wrong with him tonight?

What was wrong with _her_?!

What was going on?!?

Lance drew in a deep breath. He felt awkward around her. That, in itself, wasn’t actually that unusual. He’s been feeling a little awkward around her for a couple months now. But that had been different. It has been more like . . . like . . .

Like he only felt awkward when he thought about her, or when he talked with her briefly, or had only just started talking to her. When they actually spent time together, there was no awkwardness, just fun. As if the awkwardness came from wanting to be near her but being afraid to show just how clearly he wanted to spend time with her, and the moment he spent time with her, everything was OK.

Tonight, though, he felt more awkward when he was actually around her. Kind of like—

Kind of like when he was flirting with one of the random alien girls he met.

Yeah. That was what it was. He felt, around Pidge, like he usually did around pretty women he didn't know. Like he needed to flirt with them. Like he wasn’t good enough for them, so he had to prove that he was. Gone was their friendship, their jokes, their trust. Replaced with this awful tension.

Because he was thinking of her like a girl. Not Pidge.

Well, just because he’d identified the problem didn’t mean he'd found a solution. But it did mean he didn’t have an excuse to stay out here any longer. He had to descend back into the danger of the party.

He dodged between crowds, dropping into conversations and pulling out just as easily. Whenever he saw Pidge coming toward him, he’d swerve away, or start talking animatedly with someone.

While talking with a botanist studying plant breeding in zero gravity, Pidge snuck up on him. The moment he pulled out of the conversation, she popped up out of nowhere.

“Hey! Lance!”

“Hey, Pidge.”

“So, uh—”

“I think Hunk’s finished stuffing Keith with food, at least for now. Keith probably needs emotional support--and by that I mean snarkiness, to help him recover from someone actually caring about him. Could you help with that?”

“Sure, but—”

“Thanks, gotta go.”

Time to go to the source of the problem. He wove his way through the crowd over to Allura, who was talking with the Olkari ambassador. He tapped her on he shoulder.

“Yes, Lance?”

“What the quiznack did you do to Pidge?!”

“I put her in a dress and makeup. Why? I thought you liked attractive women.” She quirked an eyebrow. “I thought you liked _Pidge_.”

“I— I— I do. And yeah, she’s really pretty,” he said lamely. “But she’s not acting like Pidge, which I don’t like. I’m not sure I even like how she looks right now.”

“She’s still Pidge, Lance,” Allura said. Before he could answer, she caught sight of a Blade of Marmora representative and ran over to talk to him, her braids flopping in the air behind her.

Very helpful, Allura.

So he was back to dancing through he crowd, trying to stay as far away from Pidge as possible. He managed to maneuver away from her until he got caught in a conversation with a sarcastic interstellar college professor with a hatred for the word “very”. 

“I remember, once, I had a student who made a point to use ‘very’ in every sentence, just to get on my nerves. He was the most infuriating—”

“But aren’t there situations where ‘very’ is actually a good word to use?” Pidge asked out fo nowhere, making Lance jump. Since when could she sneak up on people so well?

The teacher sniffed. “Not in the least. A stronger verb or adjective is unfailingly superior to a weaker word paired with ‘very’.”

“But what about dialogue? Since actual people use the word ‘very’ a lot in their speech, if you want he speech to be realistic, you should include the word.”

“Dialogue should value fluidity and elegance over accuracy.”

“What do you think, Lance?” Pidge said.

“I think— Well, I mean— Oh, look, Hunk’s calling me,” Lance said, pointing to the tables.

“Hunk’s over there,” Pidge deadpanned, pointing at the balconies.

“So he is. Bye.”

He couldn’t even bother to not seem rude. He just needed to be alone, until this awful night was over.

***

The third time Pidge managed to walk up to him, and he barely managed to escape in under fifteen seconds, he’d given up. He couldn’t keep dodging her, couldn’t do this alone. He needed support.

Who better to go to for support than Hunk? 

“Hunk, I need help, I’m confused.”

“Confused by what?”

“Pidge.”

“Ah.” He gave him a knowing smile. “She looks good tonight, doesn’t she?”

“She looks _amazing_.” Lance stared at the floor. “I like how she looks. But do I like how she looks _more_ than how she usually looks? Do I like _her_ more than I usually do? Because I don’t want to. That wouldn’t be fair to her. She deserves more than that. A little makeup and a different walk—” 

“Different walk?”

“You know. She doesn’t look that different, it’s just a skirt. But she’s acting differently, like she _thinks_ she should act different because she’s dressed like a girl instead of like Pidge. She’s annoyingly different. Giggling, walking lightly with small steps and putting her weight on only one leg—”

“You’ve been paying attention.”

“Well, yeah.”

“Why don’t you like that she’s acting like a girl? You like girls.” He didn’t say it in the mocking, challenging way Allura did. He said it like he was genuinely trying to understand.

“I know. I do. But do I like her right now because she’s acting like a girl and not because I like _her_?

“Well, do you?”

“I don’t think so. I mean, yeah, she’s kind of prettier . . . But only kind of. It’s so weird seeing her in makeup. It’s like, instead of her having a cute face I could stare at forever, she has a beautiful face I can’t stand to look at. Yes, she’s pretty, but also . . . fake? She’s not Pidgey.”

Hunk chuckled. “That’s a weird way of putting it.”

“It’s true, though. I— We’re friends, Hunk. I shouldn’t feel awkward around her. I don’t like feeling awkward around her.”

“Then you should talk to her about it.”

“But I’ve been playing try-not-to-look with her all night. Will she want to talk to me?”

Hunk winked at him. “Trust me. You have nothing to worry about.” That helped a little--he trusted Hunk’s judgement--but only a little. 

They walked over to the window, where Pidge stood, staring intently through the glass at the stars, arms crossed over her chest. He could almost hear her reciting the constellations in her head. But when she turned to look at them, he was reminded of how different she was tonight, and the nervousness was back.

“This is a stupid idea—”

Hunk pushed Lance up next to their friend. Lance stumbled and ended up right next to her. He shot a glare back at Hunk over his shoulder, then turned to her. 

“Uh, hey, Pidge.”

“Oh. Hey.” She held his gaze as if daring him to continue their conversation for more than their record that night, fourteen seconds.

He couldn’t pull that off right now. “Just wondering if you’d tried the butter cookie peanuts— er, the peanut butter cookies— they had out one the table back there. They’re not really peanut butter, but they sure taste like it.” He swallowed. Yeah, he definitely wouldn’t be breaking the record yet. “That was all. Bye.”

“Wait, Lance.” She grabbed his hand, and he felt his skin burn at her touch, even through their gloves.

“Y-yeah?” He prayed--almost definitely in vain--that she didn’t notice how nervous he was.

“Could we talk?”

“S-sure?”

She pulled him out of the ballroom and out onto the balcony. It was easier to breathe once he was out in the cool night air, away from the bright lights and able to hide his flushed cheeks in the darkness. He’d never thought he’d be one to be overstimulated by a party, but he sure was right now. Or maybe he was just overstimulated by her.

“Why have you been avoiding me?”

He smiled. “We just broke the record.”

“What?”

“The record of how long I’ve managed to talk to you tonight. The record before was fourteen seconds. We’ve been talking for more than that now.”

“A pretty pathetic record.”

“Yeah. Sorry about that.”

She stared at him expectantly, arms folded over her chest. He sighed, and finally answered her question, knowing he couldn’t avoid it any longer.

"I've been avoiding you because . . . it's weird to be around you tonight."

"Why? Because I look pretty?"

"Because you’re acting so different." He frowned at his inability to articulate what he was feeling. "Look, Pidge, right now, you look different from how you normally do. And I think you realize it, and it’s making you act differently, too. In some ways, it’s more attractive. But mostly, it’s just weird."

"What do you mean?" she asked, tilting her head. Usually, when she did that, it just looked like she was thinking. But now, it looked coy. He hated it.

"You’re more . . . you look and act more like Allura," he finally said. "And less like you. And that's fine, Allura great, and _you’re_ really pretty right now, it's just that . . . Well, when I see a girl who's like Allura, my instinct is to flirt with them. But I don't want to flirt with you."

"Because you see me as a friend."

"Because I don't feel that way about you," he said. She nodded slowly and turned to leave, disappointment obvious, but he grabbed her hand. "What I mean is, I'm not infatuated with you like I was with Allura.”

“You mean, like you _are_?”

“No. Like I _was_. With you, it’s different. Softer, deeper."

“Friendship?"

"Love." 

There. He said it. Finally. His face heated up, but he wasn’t going to take back the truth.

"I don't want to flirt with you, Pidge, because that's not fair to you and it's not how I treat you. I want to joke with you, laugh with you, talk comfortably with you. When I'm around ridiculously pretty girls, I feel so awkward and self-conscious. I hate it. And normally I don't feel that way around you, but right now, I kind of do."

"So . . ."

"So, yeah, you're really pretty tonight. And I do kind of like it. But I would much rather see you wearing your usual baggy t-shirt and shorts, not some dress and Altean necklace." He pulled her into a hug, holding her so close he could feel her heart beating just as quickly as his. "So I could do this without feeling awkward about it." He kissed her forehead lightly, and she pulled away, face flushed.

"Wait, I'm confused," she said in her typical blunt manner. "So, you like me?"

“Yes.”

“And you like me as _Pidge_ , not some kind of dressed-up Altean supermodel?”

In response, he reached out and untied the skirt, pulling it away. It would’ve been weird if she hadn’t been wearing her uniform underneath, but with her suit on, it was just tender. He pulled the flower out of her hair and undid the necklace, and smudged the makeup off her face.

“I like you as Pidge,” he confirmed. “I like you as you are, normally, more than when you’re dressed up and covered in makeup.”

In response, she undid the buttons on his awful, constricting suit and threw it to the side. She undid the knot of the bowtie carefully, slowly releasing him from the choking sensation that had plagued him all night. He didn’t blush whenever she's fingers brushed against his neck, like he would’ve a few minutes ago. Because this was Pidge, and he wasn’t awkward with her. After a minute, he was free, back to the paladin armor he was much more comfortable in.

She smiled. “I like you too. As Lance, not a flirty, dressed-up, trying-too-hard super-warrior.”

“Hey! I _am_ a super-warrior!”

“Sure. Whatever you say, Lance.”

She leaned forward, and he got what he’d been anticipating all night. For months, in fact, though he hadn’t realized it. She pressed her lips against his, and the kiss was just as Pidgey as he’d always dreamed.

**Author's Note:**

> This . . . is really bad, isn’t it? It went through about five different iterations, none of them hitting the mark. I reworked it and rewrote it, and eventually I had to admit defeat. If I tried to rewrite this again, I’d probably get to the point where I can’t look at it. It’s so _awkward_. Which is kinda the point, but still. Not my best work. Don’t judge me by this.
> 
> Maybe I just can’t write tension-based romance? Maybe it’s only fluff for me? Or maybe I just can’t write tension-based romance with _this_ specific premise. . . . or maybe I’ve just been having an off week. I don’t know. I do like the ending of this story, though. Just . . . not the rest of it.
> 
> But someone else might like it, so I'm posting it, despite me pretty much hating it.


End file.
